"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 098 - The Third Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

empty cab."

"You hit it, buddy," returned Ronig. "Half the cabs in town are over around Times Square, grabbing
fares. The traffic cops keep us out until the lines get short. But they can't stop me if I've got a passenger."
Ronig was right. He crossed Sixth Avenue past the inspecting eye of a watchful traffic officer. When he
neared the Times Square area, he spotted an opening and pulled up to the curb. The shabby man alighted
and the taxi driver handed his fake passenger a dime.

"Here's your change," he said with a grin.

"And here's something for you, hackie," returned the shabby man. He held up an expensive umbrella with
a gold handle. "Just found it on the floor when I was getting out. Guess your last passenger must have left
it."

Ronig looked at the umbrella. Its handle bore the initials "L. Y." The cabby grunted and handed the
shabby finder a quarter.

"I'll get a tip for takin' this where it belongs," said Ronig, "so the two-bits is yours, buddy. L. Y. - those
initials mean Lucian Yorne. That was the name of the guy I just dropped."

"Better charge him for the full distance on the meter."

"Naw! That won't matter. I'm not takin' it back there now. Too much business around here; and there'll
be plenty clear through until after the show-break. Plenty of fares from the theater crowds on a night like
this.

"Yorne will have to wait until midnight for his umbrella. If he's asleep when I stop by there, I'll keep ringin'
until I wake up his funny-faced flunky. Well - so long, buddy."

RONIG stood the gold-handled umbrella beside the driver's seat. The shabby man strolled away; a
minute later, the cabby opened the door for two passengers who had spied his waiting taxi. Soon, Ronig
was on his way again, wangling through traffic, making the most of the rainy weather that every alert taxi
driver welcomes as a boon.

The umbrella was jogging by the cabby's elbow, its gold head catching the colored glimmer of passing
neon lights. It would serve as a reminder of Ronig's later mission. As he drove along, the taxi man was
repeating the names of Yorne and Parlington. He was wondering, too, how much of a reward he might
expect when he returned the expensive umbrella to its owner.

Had Ronig been able to foresee the future, he would not have looked forward to it with pleasure. For
that umbrella was due to cost him much in time and trouble. By the time Luke Ronig returned it, the law
would be investigating the affairs of Lucian Yorne. For crime was abroad upon this drizzly night.

CHAPTER II. DEATH AFTER DUSK
A DOZEN minutes after Luke Ronig had driven from Lucian Yorne's, two other cabs pulled up in front
of the old house near Park Avenue. Two couples alighted from each taxi. Prompt greetings were
exchanged in the rain; then the four - two men and two women - ascended the steps of the house.
Parlington admitted them.

Gravely, the butler greeted the arrivals by name. One was a middle-aged man, whom Parlington